


Deja Vu

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [50]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 19,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: A dark past becomes a darker present
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [50]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/99608
Comments: 88
Kudos: 24
Collections: Master Apprentice Archive





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 50th story in the Lessons series (hard to believe!), and will be posted in chapters over time. References to earlier works throughout, marked by footnotes. All stories are on the AO3 website.
> 
> Warning: deals with dark issues which may be disturbing to some.

Title: Déjà Vu

Author: Lady Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com)

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Q/O, Alternate Reality

Rating: R

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School (archived)

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing happily in the sandbox.

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie (welcome back, sweetie!) and Helen, mes betas par excellence! Any mistakes are mine.

Summary: A dark past becomes a darker present

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess  
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me?  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
Mum’s the Word  
Best Laid Plans  
An Apple for Teacher  
What’s for Supper?  
Pacifier  
Snow Angels  
One Man’s Junk  
May I Have This Dance?  
Four Green Fields  
Too Darned Hot  
Pomp and Circumstances  
Summertime Blues  
Blow the Man Down  
Post-Graduate Studies  
Crossing the Pond  
Moving On  
Picnic in the Park  
Family Matters  
Meeting of the Moms  
Ebony and Ivories  
A Less Than Perfect Storm  
Chicken Soup  
Measuring Up  
The Drinking Game  
Rainy Day Recess Revisited  
Step It Out  
Souls Mirrored  
The Pizza Fairy  
Trick or Treat  
May the Fourth Be With You  
Nollag Shona Duit  
Heart Healthy  
An Uninvited Guest  
Hijinks and Low Jacks

~*~*~*~

Chapter 1

He drove through the rainy night, turning over the memories in his mind. After more than a decade of planning and searching, his efforts were finally panning out. 

There’d been a few random sightings, but nothing definitive. The mother had had no useful information, at least none that she would share. The father was a moot point. He’d hired private investigators, but they could only produce a couple of blurry surveillance photos that might or might not have been she. 

He’d hardly dared believe it when he’d seen her in New York City over the summer. An inside source had sent him a picture that had him on the first plane out of Paris and camping out near the Plaza Hotel. Hearing that well-remembered musical voice had thrilled him to his toes. Oh yes, it was definitely she. In the company of a large bearded, taciturn man. A bodyguard, perhaps. 

The cretin of a concierge d'hôtel had declined to release any information as to her identity, even after a large bribe was offered. Instead, he’d found himself escorted out by security and firmly told not to return. But he’d remained close by, had even shadowed her one sunny morning as she’d briskly shopped up and down Park Avenue. *Without* the pseudo-bodyguard. Interesting.

He smelled money. Lots of it. Good. Very good.

~*~*~*~

“Bonsoir, Madame!” chorused the girls as they exited the Humanities Building, waving to the petite silver-blonde behind them in the gathering dusk.

“Bonsoir, mes filles,” she called back, with a graceful wave of her hand. The queen acknowledging her adoring court. 

He watched through a pair of binoculars from his car on the street. The years had been kind. The maroon late-model import pulled out of the faculty parking lot a few minutes later. The customized license plate: JOLIE – how appropriate. The lovely and delicate ingenue of years past had indeed blossomed into a beautiful flower. 

He followed.

~*~*~*~

Adele glanced again in her rearview mirror. The dark sedan was still there. She didn’t recognize the car. She couldn’t see the driver except in shadow, but it appeared to be male. She couldn’t help an inexplicable feeling of unease.

She took an alternate route home, arbitrarily changing direction more than once. But still, he trailed behind, not too close, just unaccountably… *there*. Occasionally a car or two would come between them, but she could still see him. She’d planned on stopping at the grocery store on the way home, but the largely empty parking lot warned against it. She started to reach for her cell phone in her purse, then told herself she was just being paranoid. Home was only a few blocks away.

~*~*~*~

He smiled, watching as she made another seemingly random turn. “Cours, ma petite, cours,” he murmured. “Run, but you cannot hide.” He tapped the brake, opening another couple of car lengths between them, but always keeping the maroon Peugeot in view.

~*~*~*~

She pulled into the driveway of her pastel brick cottage and sat for a moment, willing her hands not to tremble on the steering wheel. As she watched in the rearview mirror, the car drove past, in no apparent hurry. It was dark, so she couldn’t see his face except in silhouette, but for a brief moment- 

“Non, c’est impossible,” she told herself firmly. Reaching for her purse and eel skin attaché, she exited the car and hurried to the front door, fumbling for her key. She could hear Cosette on the other side, excitedly welcoming her home. She darted inside, practically slamming the door behind her, laughing shakily at her fears, even as she scooped up the small Maltese and buried her face in the warm fur. 

She desperately needed a glass of wine.

~*~*~*~

Nice home. Expensive car. Stylish silk suit, designer heels and purse. Nothing but the best. Appearances must be maintained, after all. He approved.

He meandered through the neighborhood, surveying the other homes on either side of the well-tended streets. Up-scale. Obviously well-to-do. And that ‘School for the Academically Gifted’ had practically screamed wealth and privilege. Late-model high-end cars and students who moved carelessly along the campus by-ways with a clear air of entitlement. Of belonging. Oh yes, she’d fit in very well. 

He pulled out his phone and found the faculty listing on the school’s website, scrolling until he located her picture. ‘Adele M. Gauliere, Ph.D.’, senior professor in the Languages Department. 

I have found you, cherie. 

He Googled the cottage’s address. Interesting. The home was owned by a Quinntrell J. Donovan. He recalled the name from the faculty directory, along with a familiar bearded face. So, not a bodyguard after all. A colleague, a department chairman, no less. And apparently paying *her* bills, too. Oh, well done, ma belle.

He smiled and touched the small screen in the darkness, then drove on.

~*~*~*~

The email had no return name, only an I.P. address she didn’t recognize. It was marked ‘Confidential’. Probably just one of Ben’s First Call team’s ‘phishing’ drills again. She nearly sent it unopened to her Trash folder, then impulsively clicked on it. 

And stared.

A photograph of the outskirts of Paris. An upscale villa surrounded by acres of professionally tended lawns. An achingly familiar sight from her childhood, from before she’d gone away to boarding school. Two handwritten words at the bottom: N’oublie jamais. 

Never forget. 

Adele’s hands shook as she hit ‘delete’ and struggled against sudden nausea.

~*~*~*~

She was reading in the living room when the doorbell rang. A familiar florist’s truck idled at the curb. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” said the driver, with a friendly smile. “Delivery for Ms. Gauliere?”

“Merci,” she murmured, taking the beribboned box from him. He tipped his hat and returned to the truck.

Quinn sends flowers at the drop of a hat, she thought fondly. Even now. Opening the box, she choked back a scream. 

Long-stemmed lavender roses. And a card: Je n’ai jamais oublié. Avez-vous? 

I have never forgotten. Have you?

The crystal vase fell from her nerveless fingers and shattered on the tiled floor. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she moaned, sinking into a chair. “C’est impossible.” 

~*~*~*~

He smiled to himself. First the picture of her childhood home, long since abandoned. Then the signature flowers, specially ordered at some not inconsiderable expense. 

He watched from across the street as the delivery was made, imagining her reaction.

The noose was slowly tightening.

~*~*~*~

She paced the bedroom, unable to relax. The phantom vehicle. The email. The flowers. It couldn’t be true. But there was no other explanation. After so many years, she’d let herself believe she was finally safe, had allowed herself to relax, to enjoy her new life. She had friends, a lovely home, a career, and most importantly, *freedom*. Life was good.

But now…

She went to the window. A light fog was coming in, casting an eerie glow around the street lamps. No lights in the houses nearby. Everyone was peacefully sleeping, but her.

Then she saw him. 

He was standing on the corner, under a light pole. Looking up at her window, as if he could see her through the thin sheers. She raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob, as he blew her a kiss, then slowly turned and walked away.

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The ringing of the bedside phone seemed preternaturally loud in the darkness. Ben cracked open one eye and groped for the offending instrument. “… Hello,” he mumbled, praying it wasn’t another campus emergency. Even though he wasn’t expected to be on call 24/7 anymore, old habits died hard.

“Ben?” The accented female voice was tearful, simultaneously timid and insistent. 

“Adele?” Ben struggled to sit up. “What time is it?”

“Je ne sais pas. I am sorry to wake you, but I need to speak to Quinn. Please wake him for me, will you?” She sounded as if she were having trouble breathing, or that she didn’t want to be overheard. 

“He’s not home. He was working late at the lab. You know how he loses track of time. What’s wrong, honey?” She sounded almost… desperate.

“I tried his office and the cell, but he did not answer. Ben, please find him for me. C’est tres importante. Je vous en prie! *Please*!” There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice now.

“Okay, take it easy. I’ll find him. Where are you? Are you hurt? Did your car break-”

“Non! Ben, please, do not ask questions. Just tell Quinn to call me immediatement!” She abruptly hung up.

What the hell? thought Ben as he peered groggily at the clock. 1:40 am. Quinn should have been home hours ago, but he tended to get lost in his experiments, especially when they involved his favorite botanicals. A glance at the dresser confirmed the absence of the barely tolerated, routinely castigated cell phone. But she said she’d tried the cell. Quinn must have turned it off, or conveniently ‘forgotten’ to charge it. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Well, she was clearly upset about something and needed her ‘gentil parfait knight’. Odd that she was so reluctant to give him any details. 

He reached for the bedside phone.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Quinn hummed happily to himself as he studied the contents of the glass slide under his new state-of-the-art electron microscope. The details were incredible. He’d run views of everything from the plants in his office (real and silk) to hairs from his head and beard to a drop of his own blood, excited as a child on Christmas morning. And Ben had set it up so that it automatically transferred what he saw through the eyepiece to his big flat-screen computer monitor, in full high-definition color. Amazing. It was delightful to be able to save the annotated images for his lectures right onto his hard drive. Miracles of modern technology, he thought, chuckling ironically to himself. Ben would be proud.

A phone rang down the hall, startling him from his reverie. He cursed under his breath at anyone having the audacity to call his office so late. Probably a student pulling an all-nighter with some obscure question. Well, they could just leave a voicemail. He turned back to his puttering.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again, sounding even more strident in the stillness. Quinn groaned. Damn it, why couldn’t they let him work in peace? Sighing, he walked down the hall, ready to chew nails and spit tacks if it turned out to be one of those God-cursed Robo-dialer things. Sometimes he even got ‘customer survey’ calls from idiots who couldn’t remember they were in a different time zone. Pissants.

The message light was blinking when he walked into his office. The Caller ID was on the fritz again, but he hadn’t bothered to ask for repairs. He hit the message button. Adele’s accented tones filled the room.

“Quinn? Quinn, cheri, please, pick up the phone. I *need* you. *C’est tres importante*! Ben said you were at the laboratory, but you do not answer. Quinn, call me as soon as you get this message, *please*!” She sounded on the verge of hysterics. 

Alarmed, Quinn immediately dialed her back. She answered on the first ring. “Jolie, what’s-” 

“Oh, Quinn, thank God! I need you, please! Il est ici! He has *found* me! Help me, Quinn, *help* me!” Her voice shook with harsh sobs.

“Adele, calm down, talk to me. Where are you? *Who’s* found you? Take a deep breath, jolie, I’m here. What’s wrong?” He spoke gently but firmly, trying to cut through her obvious panic.

“*Pierre*! I saw him! And he sent- Oh, Quinn, how did he find me? *Help* me-” The words tumbled over themselves as she sobbed into the phone. 

Quinn felt his blood turn to ice. He tried to speak calmly, through the roaring in his ears. “Adele, slow down, sweetheart. Are you at the house? I’ll come for you. Pack a bag; you and Cosette will come home with me. It’ll be alright, I promise. He’ll not touch you.” He was gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles were white. Questions could wait until he had her safely away.

“Yes, yes, I am at the house. Oh, Quinn, I am so *frightened*! Why is he here? How did he find me?” She choked again on her tears, and Quinn made soothing noises. 

“I’m on my way, aroon . Right this minute. Lock the doors and windows and stay upstairs until I get there. I have my key, but I’ll knock shave-and-a-haircut before I come in, so you know it’s me, alright? Watch for the car. If anyone else shows up, call 911 at once. Understand?” He heard a small mewling sound of affirmation. “Adele? Comprends-tu? I will be there in less than ten minutes. Tell me you understand.”

“…Oui, yes, je tu comprends. I understand. Merci, merci, cher Quinn, thank you. We will be ready.” She hung up.

Quinn grabbed his coat and bolted out the door.

~*~*~*~

He ran three red lights between the campus and Adele’s cottage, his mind outracing the Jaguar’s powerful engine. Fortunately, that late at night, there was little traffic.

Pierre D’Estan. Out of sight, out of mind for years. How *had* he found her? And what did he want? Judging from the brief phone conversation, almost certainly nothing good. Well, damned if he’d let that unholy bastard anywhere near his lady.

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Adele heard the Jaguar pull into the driveway and reached for the overnight bag she’d prepared. Cosette followed her anxiously down the stairs. At the promised distinctive knock, she flung open the door and buried herself in Quinn’s arms. He carefully maneuvered them backward into the foyer, so he could close the door behind them.

“Shh, jolie, it’s alright. I’m here. You’re safe,” he murmured in her ear, and she drew strength from his deep, calm voice. Quinn would protect her. Nothing could harm her as long as he was there. She felt his hand gently stroke her hair and raised her tearstained face to his in mute appeal.

He helped her into her coat, then picked up her bag. Gathering Cosette into her arms, she followed him to the car, glancing fearfully around at every step.

~*~*~*~

Ben heard the Jag’s powerful engine in the garage and pulled on his robe. The door opened just as he reached the foot of the stairs. Quinn entered, one arm wrapped tightly around Adele, who was cuddling Cosette. The Frenchwoman’s face was shiny with tears, and there was a haunted, hunted look in her beautiful sapphire eyes. With a ‘don’t ask questions’ glance at Ben, Quinn swept her past him and up the stairs to the guest room, closing the door behind them. Something was obviously wrong, but for whatever reason, he’d have to wait to be told what was going on. 

He recalled their reunion in New York the previous summer, when jealousy had irrationally flared in him watching Quinn carry a somnolent Adele into her bedroom and put her to bed. God, was he ever going to stop questioning if there was still something between them? The uncharitable thought made him twist inside.

He moved to the kitchen to put on the kettle for tea.

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

About an hour later, Quinn came back downstairs, looking grim. “I made her take an Ambien. She’ll probably sleep through the morning.” 

Ben poured tea, trying to read the currents in the room. “Gonna tell me what’s going on?” He tried to sound casual, not accusatory. 

Quinn sighed. “It’s a long story, and not a pretty one.” He took the cup Ben offered and moved to the dining room. Ben followed. 

“Tell me,” Ben said, sitting and reaching for Quinn’s near hand. “Whatever’s wrong, I want to help. Adele’s my friend, too.”

Quinn nodded absently. “Aye.” His thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Ben tried to remain patient.

Finally, “I don’t know quite how to explain it,” Quinn said tiredly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a sure sign of a headache. “She’s feeling trapped and needs my help. She has no one else.”

“I get that. You’re her protector; you always have been. But when she called here tonight, she sounded… desperate. What’s going on?”

After several long moments, Quinn spoke quietly. “People have been asking for years why Adele and I have never tied the knot.” 

Ben nodded. This was old news: rumors about the two faculty members had flown around the campus as long as he could remember. Ironically, most of them had little or no basis in fact.

The words came slowly, as if dragged from the depths of the older man’s soul. “To be perfectly honest, under different circumstances, we might have, long ago. But it wasn’t possible.” He raised his head, blue eyes sad. “Y’see, she *is* married.”

“*What*?” said Ben, stunned. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. It explained a lot, while simultaneously raising a whole slew of new questions in his mind. “When? Who?”

Quinn exhaled. “In France, before she came to the States. It’s a… bit of a complex situation.” He studied his cup as if suddenly fascinated by it.

Ben sat back, impatient to know more, but understanding how difficult this was for Quinn to talk about, even to him. 

Maybe even *especially* to him. 

Quinn continued, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Adele’s father was in the French Diplomatic Corps. The family lived outside Paris, and she grew up in the lap of luxury, wanting for nothing. When she was twelve years old, they sent her away to boarding school, where she remained until she was about seventeen, and ready to be presented to society.” He sipped his tea. “Her father had recently been assigned an up-and-coming aide, who almost immediately began to pay court. She was young, more than a little naïve, and he promised her a bright, shining future. Her parents encouraged the match, and she lent an obedient ear to their wishes. He proposed within a few months and she blithely accepted, certain they’d live happily ever after.”

Ben heard the grim irony in his voice and suppressed a shiver. Obviously, the fairy tale hadn’t ended with ‘happily ever after’. 

Quinn sighed. “As the saying goes, ‘Marry in haste, repent in leisure’. In the beginning, he denied her nothing, indulged her every whim, but discouraged any questions about his work or where his money was coming from. If she persisted, he’d grow angry and threaten to put her out on the street. The tantrums would pass as quickly as they began, leaving her emotionally bruised and bewildered, but she told herself she mustn’t judge him.” 

His voice hardened as he gazed into space, lost in memories. “Before long, the abuse became physical. Incredibly, her parents refused to acknowledge anything was wrong, or to allow her to come back home, even when she showed them her bruises. He always managed to explain it away as unfortunate accidents, or mere clumsiness on her part. They wanted no taint of disgrace on the family escutcheon, of course, so everything was just overlooked or politely covered up.” 

Ben stared, trying to grasp how anyone could deliberately harm the beautiful and charming Frenchwoman of whom he had become so fond. He felt his own anger rising at the thought, and saw it echoed in Quinn’s stern face. “Go on,” he said, through tight lips.

Quinn’s knuckles were white as he gripped the cup in both hands. “She became pregnant about two years into the marriage. You’d think he certainly would have left her alone after that. But he became enraged when the doctor said it was a girl and accused her of having ‘cheated’ him out of a son. Even more, that it wasn’t his, and that she was no better than a whore. He beat her badly and then left her alone in their apartment. She miscarried in the early morning hours and damned near bled to death before help finally arrived. She was hospitalized for several days, and he never *once* came to see her. He even told her parents she had deliberately aborted the child because she knew it wasn’t his! The doctors were required to report the obvious spousal abuse, regardless of her protestations, and he was actually jailed for a time. But once released, she knew it would be the same thing all over again. Or worse.” 

There was a sharp crack as the china cup shattered in his hand, spilling warm amber liquid onto the linen tablecloth. Several small cuts oozed blood, but Quinn seemed oblivious to the pain. Ben grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around the injured hand, hoping the stains weren’t permanent. Minor details. Quinn clearly needed to get this off his chest.

“Finally, in desperation, she left him. She had no money in her own name – he controlled all the finances, and her parents were clearly on his side – but she took her jewelry and any valuables she could carry and fled Paris. She moved around Europe for a time, then made her way to the States, where she was ultimately hired by the Academy.” 

Ben recalled Quinn’s own mother, Jenny, who had eloped with her dashing Irish Catholic lover when her father tried to force them apart. At least she had done it for love, and they *had* been happy, right up until Joseph O’Donovan’s passing. Small wonder Quinn identified with the beautiful Frenchwoman’s situation. He’d never forgiven his grandfather, even in death, and worshiped the ground his mother walked on.

Quinn’s voice and manner softened again, as he reminisced. “She was the most exquisite creature I had ever seen. Like a mythical spirit, so fragile, so… terribly vulnerable, hiding behind a brittle glamor that fooled almost everyone. From the start, I wanted to just wrap her up and hide her from the world, from whatever demons were clearly torturing her.” He barked a short, bitter laugh. “You wouldn’t have recognized her, Ben. She’s done a complete one-eighty since then. Sometimes I have trouble believing it myself.”

Ben raised Quinn’s injured hand to his lips in a show of support, then nodded for him to continue. Quinn squeezed his fingers in return, then glanced down in surprise, as if only just realizing he’d hurt himself. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage, shrugged philosophically at the bloodstains, and pushed the shards aside. 

“It was months before she felt… safe enough to tell me anything. When she finally did, it was horrifying. She’d bottled everything up inside for years, and it was eating at her like a cancer. But once that dam cracked, there was a torrent of pent-up emotions: anger, pain, hatred, dread. I feared for her very sanity, Ben. She sobbed for hours in my arms, wailing, screaming, and I cried right along with her, *for* her.” He looked up, blue eyes hard as flint, mouth set in a thin grim line. “I swore that night that if that píosa cac ever came looking for her, he’d have to go through me.”

“Of course you did,” Ben agreed. “I’d feel the same way. Has he ever tried to contact her?”

Quinn shook his head. “She had no idea where he was and didn’t care to find out.”

Until now. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Their eyes met, and realization dawned. “Oh, my God. He’s *here*? Now?”

Quinn swallowed hard. “He’s found her, somehow. I don’t know much yet; she was too upset to talk. But she’s convinced he’s stalking her. *Terrorizing* her, more like.”

“Why hasn’t she divorced him?” Ben demanded. Surely, she had cause.

Quinn sighed again, this time in frustration. “She left *him*, you see, which apparently makes her, in the eyes of the law, the wrongdoer. The fact that he made it impossible for her to remain was beside the point. Legally, she ‘abandoned’ him. What complete rubbish.” He stroked Ben’s fingers, interlacing them with his own. “He was moving in some pretty high circles. No one would have believed her if she had tried to go public on him. And God forbid she did anything to cast aspersions on her father’s name or career.” He glanced at Ben, then back down at the table. “She wanted to be rid of him, but being raised Catholic, she was taught from the cradle that marriage is until death. Bit of a moral dilemma, that.” 

But she didn’t have any ‘moral dilemma’ about having an affair with you while she was still married to him, Ben thought to himself, then banished the unkind thought. Water under the bridge. “Quinn, I can probably track him through the Internet,” he offered. “She’s a U.S. citizen now, right? Talk to a lawyer; she’s bound to have some way of getting out of the marriage now, after so long.”

Quinn raised their joined fingers to his lips, grimacing at the taste of his own blood from the broken cup. “Thank you, love, but I doubt she’d care to even know. It’d almost certainly mean she’d have to come face to face with him, and she’d rather live in a glass cage full of poisonous snakes for the rest of her life. She’s made a new life for herself. It’s probably best to leave things as they are.” The blue eyes were suddenly ice cold. “But if he *is* back, and stupid enough to actually show himself, he’ll meet the business end of that claymore in the living room. The only way he’ll ever lay a finger on her again is over my cold, dead body.”

“Mine, too.”

tbc...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ben glanced up from fixing breakfast as Adele shyly entered the kitchen. She was casually dressed and appeared oddly unfinished without make-up. Her eyes were puffy, with dark circles underneath, and her smile was timid. Cosette, on the other hand, ignored the dainty Wedgwood bowl of designer dog food Ben put down for her, blithely helping herself instead to Bernini’s crunchy morning meal. The big retriever made no protest, even allowing her to curl up next to him afterward. Like master, like dog it seemed. 

“Good morning, Adele,” Ben said, careful to greet her in English. Ordinarily, he would have said “Bonjour”, but after the conversation of the night before, it seemed a bit tactless. “Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

She nodded a bit uncertainly, from the safety of the far side of the breakfast bar. “Good morning, Ben. I am sorry to have disturbed your rest last evening,” she began, but he shook his head.

“Don’t give it another thought,” he assured her, then gestured with the spatula. “Scrambled eggs sound good? And would you like bacon or sausage?” Deliberately keeping things normal.

“Merci,” she replied softly, gratitude flickering across her face. “May… may I assist you?”

“You can set the table,” he suggested. “You probably know where everything is.” He poured her a cup of coffee. “There you go.”

She added sugar and cream and sipped. “Merci,” she said again, then was silent, seemingly content to watch him cook.

“Anything you need?” Ben asked, trying to make conversation. “Clothes, stuff from the house? Toiletries? Any of Cosette’s things? I could run by the house later.”

“Non, merci,” she replied politely. “I do not wish to… inconvenience you and Quinn. You have done so much already. It was foolish of me last night…” She trailed off, and her eyes clouded over. Ben moved the pan off the burner, then faced her.

“No such thing,” he said firmly. “You’re more than welcome, for as long as you like, you know that. Doesn’t matter why.” He reached for the plates next to the stove. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. If the big amadon doesn’t get down here PDQ, we’ll eat without him.” He winked. 

Quinn entered the kitchen, as if on cue. “I heard that.” Even awake most of the night, he seemed alert and ready for anything. “Good morning, my loves. Mmm, smells good,” he added to Ben, with a warm smile. “Shall I make toast?” He slipped an arm around Adele’s waist and lightly kissed her cheek. “Bonjour, jolie.”

“Bonjour, mon ami.” She gave him a tremulous smile and leaned her head into his shoulder for a brief moment, then set down her cup and moved to the drawers for silverware. The two men’s eyes met, and silently reaffirmed their vow to make things right, the sooner the better.

tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The work week, while stressful, ultimately proved largely uneventful. Quinn escorted Adele to and from the Languages building and Ben rearranged his schedule so as to be on-site. They all agreed it was premature to alert campus security to any potential threat. No need to alarm the students or other faculty until they knew for certain if there was a problem.

Saturday was sunny and unseasonably warm, and Ben suggested they visit the new dog park next door to First Call headquarters. Quinn and Bernini headed to the ‘big breed’ section, while Ben stayed with Adele and Cosette, playing with other dogs nearer the Maltese’s size. Ben pretended not to notice how Quinn kept a close eye on his ‘charges’, never getting too far away from the fence line, even as he indulged Bernini by throwing his frisbee over and over.

Worn out, they headed back to the brownstone, planning on cooking steaks on the backyard grill. Ben sat in the back seat of the Jag, his lap a pillow for the snoozing dogs on either side. It was good to see Adele smiling, even occasionally giggling at Quinn’s snide commentary on the latest campus gossip. He caught Quinn’s glance in the rearview mirror and gave him a celebratory thumbs up. The blue eyes twinkled in acknowledgment.

They pulled into the garage and Quinn exited the car. He paused, frowning, as the garage doorknob turned in his hand. “Ben, did you lock the door when we left?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” Ben replied, trying to restrain Bernini, who was eager to get inside and eat. “Why?”

“It’s open.”

Ben moved closer, speaking softly to keep Adele, who was still in the passenger seat, from hearing. “Should we call 911?” he asked.

Quinn considered. “It probably just didn’t latch properly,” he said finally. “It can be quirky that way. Been meaning to change it out. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He handed Ben the car keys. “Stay out here with her, just in case, yeah?”

“Don’t you think we-” Ben began, but Quinn was already through the door and inside. 

“Is everything all right, cheri?” Adele asked. 

Ben smiled, willing himself to remain calm. “Yeah, sure. Quinn just wanted to get a fire going. It’s gotten chilly, now that the sun’s gone down.”

“He is so thoughtful that way,” Adele said, with a fond smile. “Will the steaks take-”

A shout from inside made both of them turn to the door in alarm. “What the hell?” Ben said. “Adele, stay here! And call the *police*!” He leaped the garage steps to the interior door, Bernini at his heels.

Running into the living room, he found Quinn struggling with another man. He’d obviously surprised a robber. Ben grabbed the intruder from behind, locking his arms. Quinn took advantage of the opening and landed a decisive blow into the man’s solar plexus, then tore him from Ben’s arms and threw him roughly to the floor. 

“Mon Dieu!” Adele cried from the hallway. “*Pierre*?!?” 

Holy shit, Ben thought. *This* was Adele’s husband? In their home? 

“Get her out of here!” Quinn ordered. “*Ben*! Move it! *Now*!”

Like hell, he was leaving. Then he saw Adele’s terrified face. Quinn glanced up, jerked his head in an obvious ‘get going!’ gesture. Ben took her by the arm, all but dragging her back out to the garage. He grabbed his cell phone.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“We have a burglar! Send help immediately!” Adele was sobbing beside him, while Cosette yapped anxiously from the back seat.

“Is the intruder still on the premises?” the dispatcher asked, irritatingly calm.

“Yes, *yes*! And he may be armed!” He quickly gave the address. “Come now!”

~*~*~*~

“Move at your own risk, D’Estan,” Quinn snarled. “Ye’ve been warned.”

“You have no right!” The man struggled against Quinn’s foot, planted squarely on his groin. His words were heavily accented. Bernini stood inches from the trespasser’s face, growling softly, lips pulled back to reveal sharp white teeth.

“I’ve *every* right! You break into my home, for God knows what reason, and expect me to just let you walk out with anything you want? Over my dead body!”

Ben hurried back into the room. “The police are on their way, Quinn. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

“Good lad,” Quinn said, still focused on the man literally under his boot heel. “Get Adele and Cosette out of here. We’ll wait for the peelers. This gobshite’s not going anywhere.”

“No way,” Ben said firmly. He moved closer, and the fallen man glared at him defiantly. “Is this…”

“Aye,” Quinn replied grimly. “Not the brightest bulb in the box, are ye, ye miserable little prick? Trying to break in here? Not on my watch, bucko.” He ground his heel against D’Estan’s groin, and the man cried out in pain. “Didn’t I tell you to take Adele and go?” he said again, over his shoulder.

“We’re not about to leave you here alone,” Ben insisted.

There was a loud banging at the front door. “Open up! *Police*!”

Ben ran to the foyer. “In there.” He backed away, hands raised in surrender at the sight of the service pistol in the burly officer’s hand. Three more uniforms, two male and one female, followed him inside. They, too, had their weapons drawn.

“Sir, step away,” the first one ordered Quinn, who reluctantly complied. “Is this your home?”

Quinn nodded. “Quinn Donovan.”

“Got some ID?”

“In my jacket pocket,” Quinn replied, and one of the officers stepped over to retrieve his wallet. He checked the license and nodded confirmation.

The other hauled D’Estan to his feet and cuffed him. The man could barely stand upright, obviously in pain, but glaring defiantly at Quinn. “He *assaulted* me! He is the one who should be arrested! He is holding my wife captive!”

The lead officer raised an eyebrow. “What’s he talking about?”

“Quinn! Ben! What is happening? Are you alright?” Adele’s shrill voice sounded from the hallway. The female officer held her by the arm, and she was struggling to free herself. 

Ben moved toward her but was motioned back. “She’s a *friend*! Please, let her go, she’s a friend,” Ben pleaded. Quinn, too, pushed forward, clearly intent on rescuing her.

“Stay back, both of you,” the officer in charge ordered. “Or we’ll arrest you, too.”

“Let me go, s’il vous plait!” Adele objected, tears streaming down her face. “They are my friends!”

“Ma’am, stay where you are, please,” the officer at her side said. “You know these men?”

“Yes, yes,” she answered. She shook off the female officer’s hand and pointed at D’Estan. “*He* is the invader! He has been *stalking* me! Take him away!”

“Marie is my *wife*!” D’Estan insisted, struggling against the two cops now holding him. “They have kidnapped her!”

“Non! He is lying! I do not want him near me.” Adele sobbed. “He broke in here, while we were away!”

“Take it easy, ma’am. Let us do our jobs,” the female officer said evenly. She looked at Quinn. “Is there somewhere quiet where we can take her statement?”

Quinn nodded. “The kitchen’s at the end of the hall, and my study is behind the stairs. Help yourselves,” he said tightly. “She doesn’t need to see this.” He jerked his chin at Ben. “Show them, yeah?”

Glancing for permission from the officers in the room, Ben led the two women to the kitchen, then hovered uncertainly in the doorway. 

“I think perhaps we could do with some coffee,” the female officer suggested politely, and Ben gratefully moved to the counter. It felt good to have something to occupy his hands. 

“Now, ma’am, can you tell us…”

~*~*~*~

Ben also gave his statement, impressed at how the officer’s quiet professional demeanor helped calm Adele’s near-hysterics. Satisfied that she was in safe hands for the moment, he asked for and received permission to return to the living room.

D’Estan was handcuffed, closely guarded by two officers and Bernini. Quinn was tersely answering the lead officer’s questions. Ben stopped deferentially a few feet inside the doorway. 

Quinn glanced up from the sofa as he entered. “She all right?” he asked tightly.

Ben nodded. “She’s in the kitchen, giving her statement.”

The officer rose from the sofa, nodding to the others. “I think that’s enough for now, Dr. Donovan. But we may have more questions later.” He put his notebook in his pocket. “Don’t leave town.” He glanced over at Ben. “Either of you.”

Quinn nodded stiffly. “We’ll be here, never mind.”

“Is Adele safe now?” Ben asked the room at large.

“She *will* be, once this feckin’ gobshite’s safely behind bars, where he belongs,” Quinn growled. Brogue and language clearly showed his fierce Irish temper under the barely civilized surface. 

“You have no right to have me arrested, cochon!” spat D’Estan, as he was led toward the door. “Marie is my wife in the eyes of God *and* the law! She is mine!”

“Ye lost any right to call her yers the first time ye decided to use her as a feckin’ punchin’ bag, ye snivelin’ piece of whale shite.” Quinn’s voice was icy with contempt. Bernini’s fierce growl echoed his master’s thinly veiled fury. Ben wasn’t sure which of them was more intimidating in that moment. “And ‘la petite Marie’ no longer exists as far as ye’re concerned. Ye’ll never see her again if I have anything to say about it.” He leaned in, bearded lips inches from the Frenchman’s ear. “And given what I know of yer… propensities, ye’d best be believin’ I’ll be havin’ a good deal to say. In *court*. They’ll cloueront votre pénis au mur, ye sick bastard.”

tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ben watched with growing concern as Quinn poured another glass of whiskey and downed half of it in one swallow. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hand visibly shook as he set the heavy Waterford decanter down. Ben carefully moved it out of harm’s way, not wanting a repeat of the broken teacup. Quinn’s eyes tracked the movement, but he made no comment, only turned broodingly back to his glass.

Ben spoke softly. “Quinn, talk to me.” He’d never seen his partner lose control like this before, even after consuming untold quantities of liquor. This was a dark stranger and more than a little frightening.

Quinn gazed at the centerpiece on the table. He raised the glass to his lips again and drank deeply, then held it to his forehead for a long moment, as if to cool a fevered brain. He nearly sent it to the floor trying to set it back down, and Ben retrieved it from his hand. “*Talk* to me,” he said again. “Drinking yourself under the table isn’t the answer.”

The sigh sounded as if it came from somewhere deep underground. “I promised her she’d never… have to see that… that píosa cac ever again. I *promised* her, Ben.” The blue eyes were bleak.

Ben gritted his teeth. Pierre D’Estan had turned Adele’s world upside down, and Quinn’s along with it. He was her champion, her protector; in his mind, he’d failed in his sacred duty. “He’s in jail, Quinn,” Ben said quietly. “He can’t hurt her now. You know that. *She* knows that. You did the right thing, the only thing that could be done. Don’t beat yourself up.” He stroked Quinn’s hand, but it was jerked away as if his touch burned. 

“He was jailed *before*,” Quinn said harshly. “But he got out. And he’ll do it again. The ring-tailed guttersnipe will get himself a fancy silver-tongued lawyer, and he’ll get off scot-free. I should have shot the son-of-a-bitch. And damned the consequences.”

Ben sighed. It was going to be another long night.

tbc... 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The police asked Quinn to come down to the station the next day. Mark Winters accompanied him as his unofficial attorney. He reaffirmed that Adele had not seen or heard from D’Estan for more than a decade, until he’d mysteriously shown up and begun stalking her a couple of weeks earlier. Quinn had moved her to the brownstone for her safety, never dreaming that the Frenchman would follow her there. They’d been out for the afternoon and came home to find the garage door jimmied and D’Estan inside. Quinn had corralled him in the living room, subduing him physically while Ben had called the police. He freely admitted to having assaulted the intruder and felt no remorse in having done so. Mark counseled restraint, but Quinn scornfully asked if he wouldn’t have done the same thing in his shoes. The only way D’Estan was going to get to Adele, Quinn flatly declared, was over his cold, dead body.

Detective Matheson gravely regarded the two men, then closed his notebook. “It’s obvious you care deeply about Ms. Gauliere,” he said carefully. “We can jail D’Estan on the breaking-and-entering of your home, but technically he hasn’t done anything to *her*. She could get a temporary restraining order against him, but that’s about all.”

“You’re not listening,” Quinn insisted. “He’s been terrorizing her ever since he showed up, and she’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He’s tailed her all over town, sent her emails with pictures of her family home, even special flowers with a note saying he’s *never* forgotten her. Then he follows her to *my* house and breaks in looking for her! What does it take to get rid of the loony bastard?” He locked eyes with the detective. “You let him out and he’s going to come after her again. And I, for one, am not about to let that happen.”

“Quinn,” Mark said urgently, “watch what you say. If D’Estan turned up hurt, they’d have every reason to look at you for it. We all want Adele to be safe, but we have to go about it the right way. The *legal* way,” he added meaningfully, and the two men’s eyes met for a long moment. Then Quinn sighed and nodded.

“You’re right, Mark,” he said heavily. “I won’t go looking for him, but if he shows up at my house again, or on campus, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”

“We have excellent campus security,” Mark reminded both men. “We can even have a guard posted in her classroom. We won’t allow the students or the faculty to be put in harm’s way.”

“Good idea,” Matheson agreed. “The DA is recommending he be held without bail until his hearing. He’s an obvious flight risk, but we can make him surrender his passport.”

“He needs to be extradited permanently to an underground French prison, and good riddance,” Quinn snapped, “but I’m guessing that’s likely not an option.”

“Quinn, get a grip,” Mark scolded. “You’re not helping matters. Keep that up, and they’ll be looking to deport *you*, and then where would Adele be?”

Matheson leaned forward. “He’s right, Donovan,” he said firmly. “I know you’re in the States legally, and you have a clean record. But if the judge thought you were a threat — not just to D’Estan — you could be on a plane back to Northern Ireland.” He tapped his notebook meaningfully with his pen. “Am I going to have to ask for *your* passport?”

Quinn shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

tbc...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. This one is very short, but more coming soon!

Chapter 10

The judge ordered D’Estan held without bail on charges of assault and breaking-and-entering. Quinn was not arrested, despite the Frenchman’s insistence that he had attacked him without provocation. He and Ben would testify for the prosecution. Adele was granted a temporary restraining order and agreed to provide a videotaped Affidavit. The district attorney assured her she would not be required to appear in person.

tbc...


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

At D’Estan’s criminal hearing the D.A. submitted Adele’s video affidavit, in which she confirmed having married Pierre D’Estan in France when she was eighteen. She left him less than three years later and had had no contact with him since that time. She legally changed her name after coming to the United States, and ultimately became a naturalized citizen. She had been employed in the Academy’s Languages Department for more than a decade. As Dean of Students, Mark confirmed her tenured status. Fears of having to disclose her location outweighed the benefits of pursuing a divorce.

Ben attested to her frantic late-night phone call after seeing D’Estan outside her home, after which Quinn had moved her to the brownstone for safety. Quinn testified as to the details of the break-in and the fight at the brownstone and urged the court to “throw the book at the sniveling piece of whale scum”. 

The judge turned a deaf ear to D’Estan’s protestations that he was entirely within his rights to have sought out his estranged wife. He was sentenced to ninety days in jail, minus time served, during which time he would undergo compulsory psychiatric counseling. Once released, he would be expected to leave the U.S. by the first means available. Any further contact with Adele or anyone associated with her would result in his immediate and permanent criminal deportation. D’Estan loudly insisted that the proceedings were ‘des putains de conneries’ and had to be restrained by the bailiff. 

Quinn exhaled noisily as he, Ben and Mark departed the courtroom. “Well, it’s better than nothing. But God help that sorry sack of shite if he comes near her again. I’ll put him on a plane to Paris myself. In a body bag.”

“Shut up, fool,” Mark hissed, as he hurried them down the hall. “At least wait until we’re out of the courthouse. Someone might take you seriously.”

“Who says I’m not serious?” Quinn demanded. He felt Ben’s hand on his arm, saw the worried look in the green eyes, and reluctantly nodded a mute apology. 

Mark called Adele from the car and gave her the good news. She was elated. 

~*~*~*~

Saturday morning, Adele announced that she was ready to return to her cottage. “Cosette and I have imposed on you both for far too long,” she insisted, pouring another round of tea. “You have been very kind to take us in, but I think it is now past time we went home.”

Quinn hid a frown behind his cup, but Ben saw the worry in his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You know you’re more than welcome to stay here, at least until we know it’s over for sure. Why take chances?”

She shook her head. “Pierre is safely locked away. He will be leaving the country as soon as he is released, and I have my restraining order. Non, mes chers, I feel quite safe once again. We will return home, and you can resume your lives.” Her sapphire-blue eyes shone with affection and gratitude. “It is not as if I do not know where to find you, n’est-ce pas?”

“If you’re certain, jolie,” Quinn said quietly. 

~*~*~*~

That afternoon, Quinn met his locksmith at the cottage. He’d already had the locks changed at the brownstone and had added a deadbolt to the garage door. He was also considering Ben’s prior recommendation of an electronic garage door opener, if only to protect the vintage Jaguar from vandalism. The cottage did not have a garage, but Ben installed exterior motion sensors. He also privately solicited bids from a couple of home security companies for both residences. Better safe than sorry.

~*~*~*~

It took only a couple of hours to move Adele and Cosette back home. The men carefully inspected each room and ensured that the refrigerator and pantry were fully stocked. Adele insisted on taking them to dinner that night to celebrate. She laughed a great deal, as if trying to convince herself as well as them that everything was sufficiently back to normal. 

Ben wasn’t fooled, and he was fairly sure Quinn wasn’t, either. While Quinn was in the men’s room, Ben asked for her cell phone. “I’m adding my personal cell, office and First Call cell phone numbers,” he said. “If you need *anything*, day or night, you call, hear me? Either or both of us can be there in minutes.”

She nodded and returned the phone to her purse. “Merci, cher Ben,” she said softly. “I am so very glad you are in Quinn’s life. And in mine.” She kissed him on the cheek, giggling at his discomfiture as she wiped away the lipstick with her napkin.

“What’s this?” Quinn lamented as he returned to the table. “Turn my back for five minutes and you two are already at it? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, is nothing sacred?”

“Hey, when the cat’s away,” Ben said, with a wry grin. 

Quinn shook his head in mock despair and signaled for the check.

tbc...


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Two weeks later, Quinn and Ben took Adele out to dinner for her birthday. Quinn had a late afternoon class, so they left directly from campus. Adele seemed genuinely happy to be back in her home and teaching again. She was brimming with ideas for the end-of-semester vacation and had heard a rumor that Mark was considering a big Christmas blow-out at Sydney Hall. 

On the way home, they approached an intersection just as emergency lights began flashing overhead. Quinn hastily moved to the shoulder as multiple fire trucks hurtled past, sirens blaring. 

“Wow,” Ben commented from the back seat, “must be a bad one. Hope nobody’s hurt.”

Adele stared out the window. “Quelle horrible.” She paused. “Alors, I think they are turning…” She trailed off, eyes widening. “Quinn…”

They followed the reddish glow in the distance. Ben rolled down his window and smelled smoke. “Oh, my God…” 

tbc...


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Adele’s house was ablaze. Firemen surrounded the building, armed with heavy hoses pumping water from two nearby hydrants. Neighbors and bystanders congregated in the street, hindering Quinn’s efforts to park. He pulled into a neighbor’s driveway and the three leaped from the car.

“Oh, mon Dieu! *Cosette*! Quinn, Cosette is inside!” Adele’s body contorted in anguish and Ben caught her as she sank to her knees in the street. “Please, someone, help! *Cosette*!”

The fire chief turned at the sound. “Ma’am, is this your house? Is there someone in there?” he demanded. 

“My dog! Ma petite chienne! *Cosette*!” she cried again. “Please, she will *die*! Help, please!”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, lady, but I can’t put my men in danger for a dog. The whole thing could go any minute.”

“Quinn, *NO*!” Adele screamed, but he was already running toward the burning building, shucking his jacket as he went. Ben started after him, but she grabbed his arm. “Non, Ben! You must not! Please! Do not leave me!”

It was either stay put or quite possibly break all her fingers. Agonized, they watched helplessly as fire devoured the pretty cottage.

~*~*~*~

Quinn struggled through the smoke stinging his eyes and clouding his throat. Flames licked around him, and the heat was incredible. He called and whistled for Cosette, praying he was in time. If anything happened to that little dog…

“You are too late, cochon! You cannot save her!” The maniacal cackle made his bone marrow crawl, almost as much as the sight of Pierre D’Estan grinning triumphantly from the far side of the living room and brandishing a burning chair leg. “This time, I shall make quite sure!”

“D’Estan, ye feckin’ eejit, get *out* of there! Are ye lookin’ to kill us both?” Quinn demanded, then jumped back as the other man advanced, swinging his fiery weapon. “Didn’t ye get the message the last time? She doesn’t *want* ye! Go back to France and leave her alone!”

“Non! Marie will *have* to come back to me now! She will have no choice!” 

The man was clearly deranged. Quinn dodged again, then lunged forward, trying to disarm him. His greater height and size should have given him the advantage, but the smoke and soot were blinding him, clogging his lungs. He could hear thundering overhead and realized they had only seconds to get out alive. 

D’Estan swung again; the burning wood caught Quinn’s sleeve, blistering his flesh through the broadcloth. Shoving the other man away, he ripped the shirt off and brought it to his face in a desperate attempt to filter the heavy smoke. Groping, nearly blind, he backed away, trying to reach the front door.

With an unholy roar, the ceiling collapsed, turning the room into a fiery hell.

tbc...


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The firemen did all they could, but the cottage was an obvious total loss. The pastel brick exterior lay darkened and crumbled, the interior a sodden smoky mess. Adele sobbed quietly in Ben’s arms and he cried with her, mourning the loss of the brave, foolhardy man they both loved. 

The fire chief quietly approached. “Ma’am, do you have someone you can go to tonight? Can we get you a hotel, or-?” Ben motioned him away over her bowed head. Not now.

The crew and bystanders stood in a respectful semi-circle, glancing uncomfortably at each other as if to ask what to do. A neighbor draped a blanket over Adele’s shaking shoulders, offering one to Ben as well. He took it mechanically, staring at the smoldering ruins. All he could see was Quinn’s broad back as he’d heedlessly rushed inside. He knew he’d relive that awful moment in his dreams for the rest of his life.

Then one of the firemen gestured. “Cap,” he said softly to his chief, “look.”

From the far side of the house, a tall shirtless man lurched into the open air, burn marks evident on his arms and torso. His hair and beard were singed, and he was limping badly. He absently swiped at his face as he approached, smearing soot trails. He carried a ragged bundle of cloth under his arm.

“*Quinn*!” Ben cried in disbelief. “Adele, it’s Quinn! He’s *alive*!” Ben turned back to the stunned crowd. “Help him! He’s *hurt*!”

The EMT’s rushed forward, but Quinn resisted their efforts to bring him to the ambulance. His searching eyes found Adele and Ben; he beckoned, and they hurried to him, hesitant to touch for fear of causing further injury. There was a whimper from within the remnants of the burnt and torn shirt he carried, followed by a small black nose. Sobbing, Adele reached for Cosette, who burrowed into her mistress’s embrace, shivering in the cold night air. There was a collective hum of pleased shock, then spontaneous applause from everyone in the yard. 

Ben wrapped an arm around Quinn’s waist, feeling the exhaustion coming off him in waves. His skin was icy to the touch. He carefully steered him toward the waiting ambulance, where the rescue personnel took over. There were burns on his arms, more on his chest, neck and back. His torn pants were stained with soot and dirty water, and he was missing his right shoe. Quinn blearily regarded him over the oxygen mask, and he smiled his relief. 

The fire chief came up, holding a clipboard. “Mr. Donovan?” Quinn nodded. “Was there anyone else-”

Quinn tried to remove the mask to speak, but Ben pulled his hands back down, mutely commanding him to let the oxygen do its work. One look and he knew the answer. “Pierre D’Estan.” He glanced at Quinn again, who shook his head then looked away. “He didn’t make it.” And good riddance, he added silently, without the slightest regret. 

Adele approached, clutching Cosette tightly in her arms. “Oh, Quinn, you beautiful, brave, foolish man. How could you do something so wonderfully stupid? We thought you were *dead*! Oh, mon coeur…” Words failed her as she gratefully cuddled the little dog to her chest. Quinn tried to smile through the mask, then raised it from his mouth. 

“Useless… floor mop…” he croaked, wincing as his burned arm complained. Ben firmly reapplied the oxygen mask, even as he chuckled at Quinn’s weak attempt at levity. The paramedics began carefully cleaning his wounds and applying antiseptic cream.

Adele smiled shakily through her tears. “Merci,” she whispered. Quinn nodded and reached out a hand to Cosette, who sniffed it carefully and then licked his fingers. Ben grinned at the apparent cease-fire between the two casual combatants.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” the lead paramedic said briskly. Quinn tried to protest, but the combined glares from Ben and Adele — and Cosette — made it plain he was overruled. Ben took his uninjured hand in his, while Adele sat sniffling at his head, Cosette nestled safely in her arms. The doors closed behind them and the ambulance pulled away. 

tbc...


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The hospital kept Quinn overnight, monitoring for smoke inhalation. He’d used his damaged shirt as a filter and after finding Cosette cowering under the dining room buffet, had broken through the rear French doors and collapsed a few feet beyond the slate patio into the back yard. It was a miracle the fire hadn’t reached them. He’d wrenched his bad knee in the fight with D’Estan, but the burns on his arms and torso pretty much ruled out crutches. He was discharged home in a wheelchair equipped with a portable oxygen tank, under strict orders to return immediately if his breathing worsened. 

His biggest gripe, however, was the loss of his beard and mustache. Sedated in the Emergency Room, he’d awakened to find himself with considerably less hair on his head, and *none* on his jaw or upper lip. He’d bitterly accused Mark of bribing the nurses: after all, hadn’t the Dean of Students complained for years about his ‘Bohemian’ look? Ben pointed out that he could always grow it again, though it would probably take weeks or even months. Judging from the rest of him, the lush facial hair had likely protected his face from some serious scarring. He’d been extremely lucky.

Ben and Mark sat in the living room. Quinn lay in a rented hospital bed, swathed in bandages, with burns and bruises promising to turn every color of the rainbow. His bad leg was immobilized from hip to ankle. Cranky, uncomfortable, with or without facial hair, in Ben’s eyes he was beautiful. He was alive.

Adele was upstairs in the guest room, heavily sedated. Cosette slept in her mistress’s arms. She’d eaten a big dinner and drunk two bowls of water in rapid succession, but apart from a bit of minor singeing, seemed little the worse for wear. Bernini guarded them from the hall. 

“You’re sure D’Estan set the fire?” Mark asked again, and Quinn nodded. “My God, what was he thinking?”

“He wanted her back, no matter what. He was out of his mind.” Quinn crossed himself, wincing as his bandaged arm complained. “God have mercy on his soul.”

“*Mercy*? The fucking bastard deserves to burn in Hell!” Mark countered angrily. “And you, you- I can’t think of anything stupid enough to call you, running in there like you did.” He spluttered on for several seconds, then grumblingly subsided before the other two men’s weary grins. “Idiot,” he muttered, then took a large swallow of whiskey. 

Quinn lay back against the pillows with a sigh. “Maybe so, mate, but we both know you’d have done the same. I just beat you to it.” He reached for his own glass, grimacing at the movement, and Ben held it to his lips. “God Almighty, everything tastes like smoke,” he complained.

“Be glad that’s all it is,” Ben chided.

“Aye, I know,” Quinn murmured and lifted his head to sip again. “But I *had* to do it. You know that. She’d have gone right over the edge if she’d lost that overgrown powder puff.” 

“What happens now?” Ben asked. “Her home’s gone, along with everything she owned. She’s welcome to stay here as long as she likes, of course, but that guest room’s awfully small, and she’s going to need clothes, and-”

“The doctor said she shouldn’t be alone,” Mark interjected. “She’s had a hell of a shock. Several, in fact. Clothes are the least of her worries.” He glanced over at Quinn, whose eyes were closed, and lowered his voice. “The police are going to have a lot of questions.”

An understatement. Jailed after the break-in, D’Estan had bribed a guard (who was suspended without pay, pending an internal investigation) and escaped. A warning call to the cottage had gone into voice mail. While Adele and Quinn and Ben were out celebrating her birthday, D’Estan had broken in and set the cottage on fire, presumably in a last-ditch attempt to force her to return to him. The firemen found his remains under the rubble in the living room. He was still holding the burnt chair leg he’d tried to use against Quinn. A water-damaged handgun lay nearby, with a full clip and a round chambered. It was terrifying to think how easily Quinn could have been shot and left to burn to death. 

“You don’t think anyone would accuse Quinn of…” Ben trailed off.

“Letting him die? *Killing* him? Who knows?” Winters said cynically. “They had a history; that’s a matter of public record. Remember that stupid threat Quinn made after the sentencing? You know he’d have made good on it. He’s probably going to need a good criminal lawyer before this is over. I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.” 

“Thanks.” 

Mark set down his glass and stood. “I’ll check back in the morning, see how they’re doing.” He reached for his jacket, then added gruffly, “Better get some rest. He doesn’t need to be worrying about you, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben responded automatically. He didn’t look up as Winters let himself out the front door. Quinn appeared to have fallen asleep. Ben straightened the blankets around him, then sat holding his unbandaged hand. The fingers twitched; he squeezed them gently to let him know he was there, and reached to turn off the table lamp.

Only then did he let the tears silently fall. 

tbc...


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Martha Kensington knocked on the front door, then opened it with her key. “Quinn? You awake?” she called softly as she entered. 

“In here, Martha,” Quinn called from the living room, where he sat in his big easy chair, his bad knee propped on a pillow on the ottoman. Bernini wagged his tail in greeting. “Sorry if I don’t rise to greet you, but…” He gestured to the brace running the length of his leg.

Martha shook her head. “No need to reinjure yourself on my account,” she said mock-sternly. Her affectionate smile took the sting out of the words.

Quinn’s answering grin widened at the sight of the Tupperware cake dispenser in her hand. “Oh, you thrice-blessed angel. Is that what I think it is?”

“Heroes deserve rewards.” She opened the container and showed him his favorite homemade chocolate cake. “If you promise to stay put, I’ll cut you a big slice, with a glass of milk to go with it.”

His eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Make it two slices and two glasses. I hate to eat alone.” 

“Be right back,” she promised, heading for the kitchen, followed by Bernini, who would undoubtedly get a treat from Lady Bountiful as well.

“How is Adele getting along?” Martha asked, carefully settling a tray across Quinn’s lap. She set her own snack on the coffee table in front of the sofa. 

Quinn took a bite of cake. “Oh, ’tis nothing short of heaven on a fork,” he said, with a blissful sigh. Martha sipped her milk, patiently waiting. He sobered. “She’s doing a wee bit better, I think,” he said slowly. “But she still startles at the slightest sound, and if she doesn’t take her sleeping pill, she has nightmares.” His eyes darkened in pain. “I keep hoping she’ll snap out of it, but frankly, I’m worried for her. Just when we thought it was all behind us…”

Martha nodded sympathetically. “Of course you are. She’s very lucky to have you as a friend. Is there anything Sam and I can do to help? He’s already told Ben that when she’s ready to rebuild, he’ll be happy to help with plans, construction, whatever.”

Quinn smiled. “Thank him for us. I don’t think she’s thought that far ahead yet, but if she does, we’ll certainly be wanting to talk to him. I’m still arguing with the insurance company about the damages. They don’t much care for arson, even when it wasn’t my doing.” At Martha’s puzzled frown, he explained, “The cottage was in my name. Technically, I suppose she was leasing it from me, but it was hers as far as I was concerned.” He shifted slightly in the chair, grimacing as his knee objected. “Probably looked a bit odd to them that I was inside while it was burning.” He shrugged. “Call me stupid, but what other choice did I have?”

“You’re not stupid, Quinn,” Martha said gently. “A bit impulsive, maybe. You just love so deeply that you don’t stop to think about the consequences.” 

Quinn studied her for a long moment, reading the unspoken message in her eyes. She wasn’t just talking about the fire. Or just about Adele. He slowly nodded and raised his glass in a toast. She answered with her own.

TBC...


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Adele’s blue eyes were haunted, and she shied like a deer if anyone came too close. She barely ate, sleeping only with the help of the pills the doctor prescribed. Even then, she had recurring nightmares, seeing her home go up in flames. She’d awaken screaming Quinn’s name, quieting only in his arms. 

With the reinjury to his knee and his still-healing burns, he could hardly sleep on the floor next to the narrow guest room bed. Ben unenthusiastically suggested that she and Quinn take the master bedroom. Awkward as that was, no one could think of a better solution. It lasted less than a week before she asked to return to the guest room, claiming Quinn’s snoring kept her awake. They compromised by leaving both bedroom doors open at night, for easier access.

Deborah Billingsley offered to take her friend shopping, if only for necessities, but she showed little interest. Cosette rarely left her side. Their respective departments covered their classes, while the campus held its collective breath to see what would happen next. Deborah was their self-appointed gatekeeper: all requests to visit or to send cards or flowers were funneled through her. No exceptions.

Ben worked from home as much as possible, leaving only when unavoidable. He made sure Quinn’s cell phone was always charged and available to him, and constantly checked his own for texts or missed calls when away. 

Mark came by nearly every evening, usually with some small token. Adele sometimes acknowledged his presence, but at other times seemed to look right through all of them. She started at any unusual sound and clung to Quinn like ivy to a tree. It broke their collective hearts to watch her suffer, not knowing how to help her to heal.

tbc...


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Unable to sleep, Ben sat downstairs trolling the Internet for details on the D’Estan situation. Dean Winters was right to be concerned: Quinn *had* made threats against D’Estan at the house the night of the break-in, then to the investigating detective, and again in the courthouse. Then the Frenchman had died in the fire. The police had questioned Quinn in the hospital, but so far hadn’t issued any warrants. Winters had a criminal attorney on stand-by, just in case. Quinn remained characteristically unconcerned to his own welfare. Idiot. 

He couldn’t find much. Adele’s father, Armand Fournier, had apparently been a career diplomat. His only daughter, Marie Audette Fournier’s wedding to his up-and-coming aide had been the social event of the season. Ben studied their wedding picture. Eighteen-year-old Adele was a tiny Christmas tree angel in her wedding finery, but Ben detected a hint of disquiet in her fixed smile, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she’d chosen wisely. Her parents, too, seemed simultaneously proud and oddly… relieved? D’Estan simply looked smug.

Interestingly, two years later, the French Diplomatic Corps was rocked by scandal. Le Direction Générale De La Sécurité Extérieure (DGSE), France's CIA-equivalent, broke an international counterfeit artwork ring working out of the Embassy. Details were infuriatingly sparse, as the Court records were sealed. 

Marie Fournier D’Estan coincidentally disappeared without a trace around the same time as the arrests. The consensus among conspiracy theorists was that she had met an untimely end, probably at the hands of her husband. 

Ben sat back and pondered. Marie Audette Fournier D’Estan was asleep in their upstairs guest room. Quinn had confirmed she’d left D’Estan after her miscarriage. Hadn’t he said D’Estan had been jailed for domestic violence? And that her parents had refused to help her? 

There was obviously more to the story. And he was pretty sure Quinn knew a lot more than he was saying.

tbc...


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“She can’t go on like this.”

The three men were seated in Quinn’s study. The door was propped open, so they could hear if Adele called. Quinn leaned back in his chair. “What do you suggest? She’s refused to see a professional. We can’t bloody well force her, and if we tried, it could send her right over the edge.”

Mark nodded. “I know. But something’s got to give. It’s eating her up inside, and it’s tearing *me* apart watching it happen. I’ve never felt so helpless.” He seemed about to say more, but only glanced at Ben, then looked away.

“She can stay here as long as she likes,” Ben said firmly. “She’s *family*. Quinn’s her anchor. I think part of her needs to see him, to convince herself that he didn’t die in the fire.” 

Quinn nodded. “Ben’s right, Mark. She can’t be alone, that’s for damn sure. I’d be afraid she’d…” He didn’t finish, but his meaning was clear. 

Mark leaned forward. “What if she came to Sydney Hall? There’s plenty of room, and we could hire someone to stay with her.” He gave a small, tired smile. “You’re not the only one who cares about her, you know.”

Quinn considered. “You might be on to something there, mate,” he mused. “But we can’t force her. If she wants to remain here, then here she stays, and nothing more to be said. But some different walls might help.” He stood and reached for his ebony cane, grimacing as his bad knee complained. He’d only gotten out of the brace a couple of days earlier. “Let’s give her a wee bit of time. Then we can bring it up when she’s ready.”

“Fair enough. But the offer stands. And you can come see her whenever she likes.” Another sidelong glance at Ben, then he added, “A couple more overnight guests won’t matter.”

It was probably about as much of an acknowledgement of their relationship as they were likely to get. 

~*~*~*~

After Mark left, Quinn and Mark went upstairs to bed. Adele had picked at a tray earlier, then retreated to the guest room with Cosette. It was a discouragingly all-too-regular pattern. They knew better than to push, but it was still hard to watch. 

Ben spoke into the moody silence. “I think she’s got a new champion.”

Quinn’s eyes were cautiously optimistic. “It’s not just me?”

Ben smiled in the light of the bedside lamp. “I meant in *addition* to you. And me, for that matter. I was talking about Dean Winters.”

Quinn nodded thoughtfully. “He’s carried a torch for her for a while now.”

“You’re okay with that?”

Quinn seemed mildly surprised at the question. “Of course. Nothing would please me more than to see them get together. She needs someone to love her. Not just as a friend, but as a life partner, a mate. I couldn’t fill that void for her, any more than she could for me. I just didn’t realize it until…” 

Until Quinn could admit to himself that he wasn’t in love with his beautiful colleague, and was, in fact, attracted to another man.

Over his knee’s objections, Quinn turned on his side, facing Ben. “I just hate seeing her creeping around like a wounded animal again. She was like this when she first came to the Academy. It was ages before she could relax and come out of her shell, even a little. The Adele you know is a polar opposite to what she was then. And now she’s come full circle, all because of that feckin’ gobshite D’Estan. He’s stripped her soul bare.”

Ben slid closer, stroking the tense shoulders. “He’s dead, love. He’ll never touch her again,  
he murmured. “And she’s tough. She’ll get through this. She did it before, and she’s got an even bigger support group now.” He felt the rigidity start to ease, even as Quinn pulled him close. They lay quietly for several minutes, one mind in two bodies. 

A lingering kiss, then Quinn shuddered like Bernini coming out of his bath. The blue eyes were solemn, but less bleak than before. “Thank ye, love,” he said quietly, then rose and limped toward the bathroom. Ben let him go; even with him, Quinn was often reluctant to share his innermost feelings, except during lovemaking. He respected his lover’s innate need to appear strong, but hell, even Atlas had needed someone to help hold up the weight of the world once in a while.

Just as he was debating bringing up what he’d found on the Internet, Quinn’s voice floated out of the bathroom. “You think Mark’ll get off his bum any time soon and tell her?” 

“Maybe,” Ben replied. “Has he ever before now?”

“Not in so many words, no,” Quinn said thoughtfully, returning to the bed. “But I’ve seen him watching her, and...” He smiled thinly. “She didn’t seem to mind being in his company, whether I was there or not. They’d be good for each other.”

“He did offer for her to come and stay at Sydney Hall. That’s something, right?”

Quinn nodded. “I still can’t believe that unholy bastard burned down her house. Thank God Cosette survived. That little animal means everything to her.”

“Did she have insurance?”

“Aye, but it was arson, Ben. They’re not going to pay voluntarily on something like that, even though she had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s just wrong,” Ben argued. “It’s her home, and he burned it down to get to her. She’s the victim in all this.”

“I know,” Quinn said patiently. “I’ve already had that fight, and then some. We’ll keep arguing with them, but they do have a point. They say it’s not unusual for an ex- to come in and ‘help’ by destroying a property. I may have to get the lawyers involved.”

“You mean for her?”

“For her *and* for me. The house was in my name.” Quinn frowned. “Sorry, I thought you knew that.”

Ben shrugged. “Makes sense, in hindsight. She didn’t want anything that could be traced back to her.”

“That’s right. She changed her name when she left Paris, but she was still scared of her own shadow. She moved around for years, before she finally settled at the Academy. It was my idea, actually. She needed a place to live, and she liked that little cottage, so I bought it as an investment. She paid the mortgage each month, but the deed was in my name.” 

Ben knew the money was irrelevant in Quinn’s mind. His ‘jolie’ could have the shirt off his back. “Why do I have a feeling you’ll be arguing with the insurance company for a while yet?” he teased. “Just for the pure pleasure of it.”

Quinn nuzzled into his hair. “You may have a point. I do enjoy a challenge, and God knows D’Estan and I had no love for each other. I’d hardly have asked him to come in and burn the place.”

“And you’ll need something to keep you occupied while your leg heals up,” Ben added. 

He could already see the wheels beginning to turn. 

tbc...


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this one is very short, but hang on, there's more to the story yet. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Chapter 20

After careful consideration, Adele accepted Mark’s offer to relocate from the brownstone to Sydney Hall. She had her own private suite upstairs and a personal maid at her disposal. Mark respected her privacy but assured her he would make himself available any time day or night. 

With D’Estan finally and irrevocably out of her life, she started to relax. At first, she and Mark would occasionally dine together in her suite. Then, as her self-confidence grew, they would spend time together downstairs, even an occasional night drive around town. She began taking an interest in replacing at least some of her clothing and accessories, doing most of her shopping on-line. Furniture and furnishings could wait, though Mark told her she was welcome to decorate her suite in any way she saw fit. 

Once Debra Billingsley relayed through the campus grapevine that she was feeling better, emails from students and colleagues began to trickle in, followed by a rising tide of cards and flowers. She was a popular teacher, and sorely missed. The outpouring of love and caring was a healing balm to her lacerated soul. She spoke wistfully of returning to classes in the Spring semester, or maybe even earlier.

Quinn was pleased to see her and Mark growing closer. There was nothing overt, but the man’s brown eyes followed her around the room, and he seemed to go out of his way to find ways to make her feel welcome. She smiled more easily and seemed shyly content in his company. It augured well for the future.

tbc...


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

“Sir, there’s a Mr. Abbott here to see you. He says it’s about Professor Gauliere.”

What the hell? “Show him in, please, Deborah.”

Mark stood as the man entered his office. “Mark Winters, Dean of Students,” he said politely.

“Special Agent Stephen Abbott, U.S. Secret Service.” He produced his badge and ID from his jacket pocket. “Thank you for seeing me, Dean Winters.”

Mark gestured to Abbott to take a seat. “How can I help you, Mr. Abbott?”

Abbott extracted a thick manila envelope from his briefcase. “I’m here concerning one of your faculty, Professor Adele M. Gauliere. I believe she is an instructor in the Languages Department?” Mark nodded. “We’ve been trying to reach her for the last several weeks. It’s a matter of some importance.”

“May I ask the reason why?” Mark asked.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Abbott said smoothly. “Is she on campus today?”

“I don’t know that I can help you, without additional information,” Mark replied. “Is this a school matter?”

“It impacts the school, yes,” Abbott replied, “inasmuch as she is a member of your faculty. Which is why I reached out to you this morning, to ask your assistance in locating her.”

“Professor Gauliere is currently on a leave of absence, Mr. Abbott,” Mark said flatly. “I am not in a position to discuss her situation further.” Damned if he was going to expose Adele to any additional stressors. 

Abbott leaned forward. “Dean Winters, we have only Professor Gauliere’s best interests in mind. Your reluctance to provide her whereabouts suggests that you may not be fully cognizant of her situation. While I am not at liberty to discuss the details at present, I believe it would behoove you to let her know that we are trying to reach her.” He pulled out a business card and slid it across the desk. “Please let her know that we would like to speak with her.”

Mark let the card lay. “If I happen to see or hear from her, I can tell her you have been here, Mr. Abbott, but beyond that…” 

Abbott nodded. “I’ll leave this with you as well,” he said, indicating the sealed envelope. “Please see that she gets it. Thank you for your time.” He turned and left.

Mark stared at the card and the envelope. What would they want with Adele? She was a naturalized U.S. citizen and had been employed at the Academy for over a decade. Hadn’t she been through enough?

He reached for the phone. 

~*~*~*~

Not surprisingly, Quinn was equally reluctant to accede to Abbott’s request. “Why the hell would the U.S. Government be looking for her?” he demanded. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with D’Estan,” Mark said. “This man Abbott seemed awfully insistent on finding her.” He thought a moment. “We need to tell her, Quinn. It’s her decision, but damned if he’s going to meet with her alone. I can be there on behalf as her attorney, if she’ll agree. She’d probably feel safer if you were there, too.”

Quinn agreed. “Let’s feel her out first, see how she reacts. If she refuses, then no one’s going to force her. They can bloody well come back with a warrant.”

“One step at a time, old friend,” Mark cautioned. “We don’t want to make things worse for her. Let’s talk to her tonight, after dinner.”

“We’ll see you this evening.”

~*~*~*~

Mark brought the sealed envelope home at lunchtime and gave it to Adele. She listened carefully to his recap of the visit from Abbott. “I didn’t tell him you were here,” he concluded, taking her hand. “I can stonewall him for a while, but he seemed pretty determined.”

“Thank you for your help, Mark,” she replied. “I am sorry that you had to become involved.” 

“I’m not,” he said, his brown eyes soft. He kissed her gently on the cheek, then quietly left the room.

Adele sat staring at the closed door for a few minutes, then opened the envelope and began to read. 

tbc...


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The four friends gathered that evening at Sydney Hall. 

“Thank you for coming, mes chers amis,” Adele said. “You have all been so kind to me over these last few weeks. I have no words to tell you how grateful I am.” She indicated the manila envelope on her lap. “It is time to clear the air.” 

She looked at Quinn, and some silent communication seem to pass between them. “If you’re sure, lass,” he said quietly. No doubt he was remembering another such ‘reveal’ from years ago. Outwardly calm, but Ben saw the white-knuckled grip on his glass of whiskey and unobtrusively slid his leg closer in a gesture of support.

“Take your time,” Mark added. “We’re here for you.”

“This I know all too well,” she replied, with a grateful smile. She glanced again at Quinn and seemed to draw courage from what she saw. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she began to tell her story.

“My father was a senior attaché at the French Embassy. Pierre was a member of his cortege. Papa was in line for an ambassadorship and Pierre was being groomed to become his chargé d'affaires. As part of an upcoming cultural exchange program, Pierre procured a valuable oil painting to be presented as a gift. The recipient was quite impressed with his choice. Unfortunately, when he had it appraised for insurance purposes, it was discovered to be a clever forgery. Pierre insisted he had been duped, and the Embassy went to great lengths to avoid an international incident.” 

“Shifty little bastard,” Quinn muttered. 

Adele continued. “I was away at school at the time. The following year, I was presented to French society at an Embassy ball. Pierre was my escort that night, and almost exclusively thereafter. Maman was constantly in my ear, praising his looks, his education, his bright shining future. I was swept up in the mad romantic thrill of it all.” 

She sipped her wine. “I was a wife at eighteen. We moved into a luxurious penthouse apartment near the Embassy. Pierre enjoyed entertaining and I was expected to be the consummate hostess. After each dinner or party, he would critique my clothes, my manners, the food and decorations.” She gave a rueful little laugh. “I seldom lived up to his exacting standards and blamed myself for my inadequacies.” 

She was quiet for a moment. “After a few months, I became concerned that we were living beyond our means. At first he put me off, but when I persisted he grew angry and threatened to put me out on the street. He made it plain that all he required of me was to be beautiful and gracious in public and to never question him in private.” She shrugged helplessly. “Everything was in his name, even my dowry. When I went to my parents for advice, I was told to not ask questions and to learn to be a more obedient wife.”

Ben tried to imagine how vulnerable she must have felt. Barely eighteen years old and married to a man who was obviously not the Prince Charming she had been led to believe. Small wonder she saw Quinn as her knight in shining armor. His heart ached for her. 

“We were seen as the ideal couple,” she continued. “In public, he was gallant, attentive and romantic. I was showered with expensive gifts. He had the Embassy florist send me lavender roses every week, telling everyone they were my favorite flower. But in private, I was never good enough.” 

She began to pace, arms wrapped tightly around her ribcage. “I became pregnant in our second year of marriage. The news was… not well received. He accused me of trying to tie him down, just when his career was taking off. He insisted that the child was not his, and I had obviously cuckolded him. In short, I was no better than… than a whore.” 

Her body shook with harsh sobs. Quinn and Mark both leaped to their feet, but Mark got to her first. Adele wiped her eyes with his handkerchief, even as she carefully stepped out of his embrace. “He became quite intoxicated and beat me. He left the apartment, still maintaining that I had been unfaithful to him.” She wept. “I… I lost our baby that night.” 

“The feckin’ son of a bitch,” Quinn said through gritted teeth. “I should have beheaded him when I had the chance.” 

Adele gave him a sad smile. “It was not your fault, cheri. Please do not blame yourself for something that happened years before we even met.” 

Mark gently led her back to the sofa. “It’s all in the past now,” he reminded the room at large. “You weren’t responsible. Quinn’s right: the self-righteous bastard deserved everything he got.”

“Amen to that,” Ben echoed. 

No one said anything for a few minutes, giving Adele time to collect herself. Then Quinn spoke quietly. “Finish the story, jolie. It’s time.”

She nodded. “I was hospitalized for several days after the miscarriage. I begged the doctors not to report it. I was sure it would only make matters even worse. But they insisted and Pierre was arrested and jailed for abuse.” She paused, then added softly, “It was the last time I saw him.”

“You mean he didn’t come to the hospital?” Mark demanded. 

“Why would he?” Quinn said bitterly. “She was only his wife, *and* his meal ticket.”

Realization dawned. “You knew?” Mark asked. “Why the hell didn’t you *say* something?”

“Because I asked him not to,” Adele interjected. She looked at Quinn. “Je suis vraiment désolé, mon cher ami. I had no right to saddle you with my problems for all this time.”

Quinn shook his head. “You had every right. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to do something about it before now. Go on with the story.”

She bravely nodded. “While I was recovering, I was contacted by the DGSE.” Seeing Mark’s confused look, she explained, “They are similar to the CIA here. They were investigating an international counterfeit artwork operation. The incident with the forged painting suggested a connection with the Embassy. I told them I knew nothing, but they returned with a warrant to search the apartment and found incriminating documents in a secret wall safe. Pierre was brought up on additional criminal charges. He told les gendarmes that he had been acting under orders from his superiors, and that Papa had offered me in marriage in return for his silence.”

Mark exploded. “Are you kidding? Your parents *sold* you to that rat bastard?”

“Stand down, mate,” Quinn ordered harshly. “Hear her out.”

She swallowed hard. “In hindsight, it seemed all too clear. I had simply been too naïve to see it.” She wiped away a tear. “Pierre was given a lighter sentence in return for naming additional conspirators. Papa was one of those tried and convicted. To this day, I do not know if he was innocent.” 

“Did you have to testify?” Mark asked. 

She shook her head. “Pierre was sure I had turned him in. The DGSE granted me sanctuary. I left Paris and spent the next several years moving around Europe under a variety of assumed names, working as a private tutor and later in a few schools. But I was always looking over my shoulder, seeing him around every corner. The Continent seemed so… small.”

“Is that when you came to the Academy?” Ben asked. 

She nodded. “I legally changed my name when I came to the States, and after a year or two, accepted the position here. I also became a naturalized citizen.” 

“Is your father still alive?” Ben asked. 

Her eyes teared again. “He died in prison.” She drew an official looking document from the envelope. “This is his Will, filed the day after Pierre and I were married. Pierre stood to inherit everything, provided we were lawfully man and wife. Once released, he became desperate to collect.” 

“Is that why the Secret Service was trying to find you?” Mark asked. 

“Indirectly, yes. The DGSE has no jurisdiction here. They continued to monitor Pierre’s whereabouts after his release. They suspected he would try to find me, so they reached out to the Secret Service.” She gave a tired smile. “Unfortunately, they were not quite fast enough.”

“So what happens now?” Mark asked. “Will you need to return to Paris to sort out your father’s estate?”

She gave an odd little laugh. “Pierre’s greed was his undoing. By implicating Papa, anything that he stood to inherit instead reverted to the government as remediation. There is nothing left.”

Quinn grinned maliciously. “Hoisted by his own petard. Karma’s an expensive bitch.”

“But your father’s estate should have passed to you,” Ben objected. “Instead, you’ve lost everything.”

“Au contraire,” Adele protested. “I am *free*. Free of the past, free to look to the future? Je suis tres content.”

Mark took her hand. “Well, we’re ‘tres content’ that you’re still with us. And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’ve enjoyed the company.”

The look that passed between them didn’t go unnoticed.

tbc...


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

A few days later, Mark and Quinn sat in Mark’s office going over departmental budgets for the coming semester. It was tedious work, and both were more than ready for a break.

Mark stood and stretched, feeling his lower back crack. “Can I ask you a question? And get an honest answer?” 

Quinn nodded. 

“Was…” he hesitated, then plunged forward. “Was D’Estan the reason you never married?”

“Me personally, or Adele and me collectively?”

“Either.” Mark shrugged. “Both.” 

“Bit of a moot point, since she *was* married,” Quinn pointed out. “But yeah, if she’d been free I would have asked Adele to marry me.” He paused. “But *not* for the reasons you think. I wanted to protect her, to keep her from harm. I *told* myself I was in love with her, because that’s what I thought love was all about.”

“But…?”

“The night she told me about D’Estan, I’d planned to propose,” Quinn said slowly. “Had it all planned out in my mind. Nice dinner, music, flowers, diamond ring, the whole kit and kaboodle. But she started telling me about her past, and then she started to cry and, well…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “How could I make things even worse?”

Mark nodded. “Catch-22.”

Quinn sighed. “Letting the rest of the world think we were having an affair made her feel better about herself, let her move beyond the past. She… *bloomed*, and I loved watching her come out of her shell.” His eyes and voice hardened. “But I won’t deny that I thought more than once about tracking down the son of a bitch and beating the livin’ shite out of him. Even after she made me promise I wouldn’t.”

Mark sat back in his chair. “I don’t get you sometimes.”

“How so, mate?”

“You have all this… strength, this take-on-all-comers, Type-A personality. You’re a natural leader. And you’ve got a temper, though you manage to keep it under wraps most of the time. You’re a… a he-man.”

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. “Your point?” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re living with another *man*! I don’t get it. What changed?”

“I couldn’t tell you, and that’s the truth,” Quinn replied. “I honestly thought what Adele and I had was enough. But I was wrong.” He cocked his head. “So, what’s *your* excuse?”

Winters stared. “Huh?”

“*Tell* her, ye great ninny. You’ve dawdled around long enough. It’s time. She’s waiting for you.”

Mark shook his head, brown eyes troubled. “It’s not appropriate. She’s just gone through hell- “

“What better time for some *good* news?” Quinn retorted.

“I’m the Dean of Students and she’s a senior faculty member,” Winters protested weakly. “How would it look?”

“Ah, bollocks. No one cared that she was supposedly having an affair with me. Now, no more excuses, ye coward. Jump off the feckin’ cliff. Before she decides it was all her imagination and starts looking elsewhere.”

Mark shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin,” he said softly, almost to himself.

“Don’t they teach you how to grow a spine in law school?” Quinn grinned to take the sting out of his words. “It only hurts for a minute, mate.”

“What does?”’

“Laying yer balls on the choppin’ block.”

tbc...


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

After Quinn left, Mark stood staring out the window of his office, overlooking the campus quadrangle. Students were milling about, some tossing frisbees, others sitting in study groups under what was left of the fall foliage. Everything out there seemed absolutely normal.

For him, it was anything but. 

When he closed his eyes, he saw the woman he had silently loved for years in the arms of his best friend. Dressed all in white, she seemed lit from within as she tiptoed to meet his lips in a loving kiss.

God, how he *wanted* to believe what Quinn had said, that he and Adele were not in love. But the words rang false in his ears. They’d been together since before Mark had come to the Academy. Why was Quinn risking his decades-long career to be with another man, when his ideal mate was within reach? The fool had to be saved from his own insanity. And Adele deserved her fairy tale ending.

Pragmatism won out over wistful dreams. If Quinn couldn’t be made to see the reality of the situation, he’d have to step in. For both of them. 

TBC...


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The brownstone was blessedly quiet. Quinn had a late afternoon doctor’s appointment and Adele had offered to drive him. Ben poured himself a beer and sat down on the sofa with his laptop. It had been one of those days at work, and he was in serious need of some downtime. 

There was a knock at the front door. Damn. 

“Good evening, Mr. Kensington,” Mark Winters said politely. “I hope you don’t mind my showing up unannounced.”

“Of course not, sir,” Ben lied. In a pig’s eye, he didn’t mind. But it would be rude to tell the Academy’s Dean of Students to make an appointment. “Quinn’s not here, but…” 

“Yes, I know.” He paused. “May I…?” 

Ben stepped aside, inwardly resigning himself to the inevitable. “Sorry. Please come in. Can I get you something to drink?” 

Winters gestured to his opened beer. “Got another one of those?” 

“Coming up.” 

Ben took his time in the kitchen. The air seemed to be whispering to him not to let his guard down. Quinn called it Irish intuition. He returned with a beer and a glass, then sat down on the ottoman, feeling an irrational need to put some distance between them. Bernini sat alertly at his feet, in a silent show of support. 

Winters took a seat on the sofa. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. In private.” 

“Oh?” Ben asked cautiously. “Is something wrong at the school? Something I need to alert my team-” 

“No.” The Dean paused to sip his beer. “This is about them.” 

Confused, Ben waited for enlightenment. 

Winters seemed to be weighing his words. “D’Estan’s dead. She’s free. They can move forward now.” 

“Sorry, not following,” Ben said, even as his insides started to twist. Surely the man wasn’t suggesting… 

“You can see where things are headed,” the dark man said quietly. “You could step aside. Be the bigger man, so to speak. Give them the chance to get together for real.” 

Ben stared. “Excuse me?” 

Winters’ brown eyes were unreadable. “No one would bat an eye if they finally got married. And nobody need ever know the details of what’s gone on… before.” 

Ben recalled the conversation the night Quinn had brought Adele home. He’d as good as admitted that but for D’Estan, he and Adele would likely have gotten married years ago. But that was then… “I don’t think-” he began, but Winters held up a hand. 

“You want what’s best for them, right?” he said persuasively. “Man up, Kensington. They love each other. It’s the ideal solution. A happy ending, long overdue.” 

Ben swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. In the Dean’s eyes, he was clearly expendable. But, hell, hadn’t he said as much himself the day he’d resigned from the Academy? Best intentions aside, it had nearly killed him to walk away. Quinn, too. It wasn’t an option anymore. Not even for the woman they both loved, the same woman who had singlehandedly maneuvered them together in the first place, then bullied them back together after he’d cut all ties and fled like a thief in the night . 

“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, “but I don’t see that happening. Quinn and I are in a serious, committed relationship. With *Adele’s* blessings,” he added. “I won’t play the sacrificial lamb, just to make you and the Board of Governors feel better.” 

Winters’ eyes narrowed. “Watch yourself, young man. I went to bat to save Quinn’s ass from the Board. *You* elected to walk away, as I recall.” 

Okay, maybe the bit about the sacrificial lamb was a bit over the top, but he couldn’t back down now. “I realize it gripes the hell out of you that Quinn and I are together, but frankly, there’s not a damned thing you can do about it,” Ben said, reining in his temper with difficulty. First Call had no issues with his and Quinn’s relationship. Just another example of the Academy’s cloistered and outdated world view. “You can’t fire me; I don’t work for you anymore, remember? I suppose you could rescind First Call’s service contract, but there are laws against that kind of discrimination.”

“You’re missing the point,” Winters replied heatedly. “Adele needs to put all this behind her, and what better way than-” 

“You’re right,” Ben interrupted. “She *does* need to move on, and we all want that for her. But don’t blame me — *or* Quinn — because you don’t have the balls to-” 

The blow landed squarely on his jaw. As he hit the floor, he heard a loud, “What the bloody *hell*!” from the foyer. Bernini was instantly on his feet, hackles raised and growling. 

“Mark, what the hell d’ye think ye’re doin’?” Quinn demanded, advancing on Winters, who was breathing heavily and rubbing his bruised knuckles. “Ye feckin’ bastard, ye want to hit something, try *me*!” He grabbed a double handful of the other man’s shirt and leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “C’mon then, if ye bloody well dare!” 

Glaring, Winters shoved Quinn away. “Get your paws off of me, you lunatic! I was only pointing out to your… whatever he is… that he should think about what’s best for all concerned and-” 

“Aye, I heard!” Quinn snapped. “Ye’re wantin’ him to slink away into the night with his tail between his legs. Well, ye can feckin’ forget it! And ye lay a finger on him again, ye bleedin’ gobshite, and won’t I just be rippin’ ye a new one!” 

“*Stop* it, both of you, this instant!” Adele’s whip-crack tone from the doorway stunned all three men and even Bernini into silence. “Shame on you! Grown men, acting like little boys! It is disgraceful!” She strode angrily into the room. “You will *not* do this, do you hear me!”

“Adele, jolie,” Quinn protested, but she cut him off with a withering Look. 

“Non! Do not ‘jolie’ me, Quinntrell Joseph Donovan! This is reprehensible behavior. I will not be a party to it.” She turned to Winters. “And you, Mark, how dare you? Quinn is your closest friend.” 

No one moved. They hardly dared breathe. Ever the epitome of ladylike gentility in public, this was a new and more than a little disturbing Adele Gauliere. Even more so, in light of recent events. 

Winters glanced at Quinn. “She always like this?”

Quinn nodded, with grudging admiration. “Pretty much.” He gave the irate Frenchwoman a small conciliatory smile. “Pax, jolie. You win.” He held out a hand in supplication. She gazed at it for a long moment, then permitted him to draw her to his side. Ben slowly got to his feet, rubbing his jaw where the Dean had cold-cocked him. His eyes were locked on Quinn.

Winters stared at the tableau before him. Three against one? Two against two? Or two against one against…? It was impossible to tell. 

Adele spoke again from within the circle of Quinn’s arm. “Mark,” she said unsteadily, “Quinn and Ben are happy together. Is it so difficult for you to be happy *for* them?” She squeezed Quinn’s hand where it rested on her waist. 

“Ben, mon cher ami, please do not be angry with these so-foolish men.” She watched sympathetically as he rubbed his chin. “We know how close-minded and stubborn they can be. You could have Mark arrested for assault, even fired, but you are a bigger man than that, n’est-ce pas? Of course you are.” She turned back to Winters, who was struggling to regain his composure. “And Mark, you are far too good a man not to apologize for striking Ben. Eh bien, gentlemen, you will please to kiss and make up.” Her smile was brittle, but her eyes said she would brook no protests from any of them. 

Mark was silent for a long moment, then mumbled, “Sorry,” in Ben’s general direction.

“S’alright,” Ben responded. “I was out of line.” 

“Tres bien,” Adele approved. “Now, explain what is going on, s’il vous plait.”

“It’s not important,” Mark muttered. “Just a… difference of opinion, that’s all.”

“Some difference,” Quinn retorted. “Try something like that again, and I’ll be takin’ yer feckin’ head off yer shoulders. With a dull knife.”

“Be quiet, Quinn,” Adele admonished. “You are not helping.” She turned back to Mark. “Quelle difference? Why does their being together matter to you?” She paused. “Or is it perhaps something to do with me instead? Am I no longer welcome at Sydney Hall?”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Of course you are! Stay as long as you like. I…” He looked away, the rest of his words too soft to hear.

“What was that?” Quinn asked facetiously. 

“I said I *love* her!” Mark blurted out. His jaw snapped shut, as if in a belated attempt to snatch back the words. 

tbc...


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The sudden silence in the room was deafening. Then Quinn took Ben by the arm. “Let’s get some ice for that jaw.” They beat a hasty retreat, followed by a still anxious Bernini.

~*~*~*~

Adele stared, nonplussed. “You… you have feelings… for me?”

Mark nodded hopelessly. “I have had, for a long time now.”

“But you have never spoken of it.” She spoke carefully, trying to sort out this sudden change of direction.

“No.”

“Pourquoi pas?”

“Because…” Now he seemed to be picking his way through an emotional minefield as well. “Because you and Quinn… you were… together.” He shook his head. “Or so everyone believed.”

“And you did not wish to come between us?” she asked, eyes now bright with unshed tears. 

“Of course not. You were so- so perfect together. Who would want to be the one that broke that up?” He looked away, shoulders hunching.

Adele moved closer. “You wanted us to be happy. Not just me, but Quinn as well. Because he is your good friend.” Mark nodded but wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Then why can you not be glad for him now? Be happy for them, as I am.” She touched his cheek. “And perhaps then you will also be able to be happy for yourself, n’est-ce pas?” 

Winters drew a heavy sigh. “It’s not that simple, Adele-”

“Yes, it is *just* that simple!” she insisted. “You may not like it, but it is *their* choice, not yours.” Her blue eyes snapped. “What la petite garce Xandra Criton did to them was reprehensible. Ben resigned his position with the school to protect Quinn, because he *loved* him. And it nearly destroyed them both. I should know.”

“You’re as bad as he is about changing the subject in the middle of a conversation.” His tone was quietly ironic.

Adele threw up her hands. “*Men*!” A torrent of angry French followed, of which Mark caught only an occasional word, but her meaning was clear. 

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Stand down, General,” he said, with an ironic smile. “I surrender.”

She studied him for a long moment, their faces inches apart. “C’est bien,” she murmured. 

“C’est bien,” he agreed. 

~*~*~*~

Quinn wrapped ice in a dish towel and held it to Ben’s jaw, where a bruise was already forming. “Want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked.

Ben winced at the cold against his skin. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He shifted the ice pack to a more comfortable position.

“I think we *need* to talk about it,” Quinn said firmly. “I come home, thinking to enjoy a nice quiet evening with two of my favorite people, only to find my lover on the floor and my boss standing over him, ready to punch him into oblivion. I think I’m entitled to an explanation.”

Ben scowled. “I thought you said you heard us.” He shrugged. “We had a disagreement, that’s all.” 

“Clearly.” Quinn leaned against the kitchen counter, ready to wait him out.

Ben sighed. “He… he wanted me to, how did he put it? ‘Step aside’, so that you and Adele could get married, now that D’Estan is out of the picture. Do the right thing, and all that. And I said I wouldn’t be his sacrificial lamb.”

“*That* part I did hear, along with something about his balls,” Quinn said, with a wry grin. “But if he hasn’t figured things out by now…” He paused, studying Ben’s despondent body language. “Oh, shite, Ben. Not you, too?”

Ben couldn’t meet his eyes. “I just thought…” he mumbled into his shirt collar.

Quinn tugged on a lock of his hair until he looked up. “You thought there might still be something between us? That with everything that’s happened, that we might somehow…?” 

The blue eyes were kind, but Ben knew he wasn’t going to get out of it easily. He nodded miserably, ashamed they were even having to discuss it. Again.

Quinn sighed. “Small wonder, I suppose,” he mused, and Ben glanced up in surprise. “You’re not all that different in some ways, you and her. Can’t think why I didn’t see that before.”

“I don’t-”

Quinn stopped him. “Ben, listen, and for the love of all that’s holy, *hear* me. I love Adele. I always will. But I’m not *in* love with her, and never was, much as I may have tried to convince myself otherwise. And she was never in love with me.” He scowled. “But if I thought for even a microsecond that making love to her would help bring her back to herself, I’d do it in a heartbeat. And so would you. But that’s not what she needs.” 

He grimaced. “D’Estan was the first man she was ever with, and he used sex to dominate, to control her. She tried to wrap it up in hearts and flowers in her mind, but deep down she knew he was never going to be the Prince Charming of her dreams.”

“He didn’t even make a half-decent frog,” Ben joked weakly, and Quinn gave him an appreciative smile.

“Well said. But my point is, she learned to equate sex with power, with subrogation. He made her feel like an ornament at best, lower than a slave at worst. What she needed was to be loved, for herself. That, I could and did give her, with my whole heart.” He paused, seeming to weigh how much more to say. Ben hung on his every word, needing to know the truth, once and for all, yet almost afraid to.

“You know that she and I were… intimate. Before…” Quinn continued slowly, and Ben nodded. “But I could probably count on my fingers the number of times we were ever actually… physical. It just wasn’t an issue, for either of us. She had such bitter memories, but at the same time she needed to convince herself that she was somehow… worthy… of having a man’s attention, if that makes any sense. The first time…” he trailed off, and Ben saw the pain in the blue eyes. “It… well, it wasn’t good. I blamed myself, but she was sure it was her fault. It was ages before we even tried again. And rarely after that. It just wasn’t important.”

This from the man whose sexual appetite was the stuff of legends. He’d just needed the proper focus. 

“I think I understand,” Ben said softly, and stepped into Quinn’s arms, feeling them close tightly around him. He kissed the sensitive spot just below the other man’s jawline and felt the pulse leap under his lips. It was strange not to feel the beard tickling his nose. “I love you,” he murmured, reaching for Quinn’s mouth this time, ignoring the twinge from his sore jaw.

tbc...


	27. Chapter 27

EPILOGUE:

Quinn and Adele sat on the sofa in her suite at Sydney Hall, enjoying afternoon tea. The big Georgian mansion was empty but for the two of them and the maids, who had discreetly vanished to the other side of the house. He’d been delighted to accept her invitation. 

“You’re looking particularly lovely, jolie,” he commented, sipping his Earl Gray. Every day she seemed to be moving closer to her old self, and it did his heart good to see it. God knows, she’d suffered enough.

“Merci, cheri,” she said, with a smile. “You are looking very dashing as well. Is your knee quite well again?”

He shrugged. “As well as can be expected for a man of my declining years,” he said dismissively. “But surely you didn’t ask me over here in the middle of such a beautiful afternoon to talk about my infirmities. What’s on your mind?”

“That nice detective called. He felt they did not have enough evidence to charge you with the house fire, but wanted to know if I wished to pursue it further.” She giggled at his snort of disbelief. “I told him that if I thought you were at all to blame, I would settle matters myself. So you are now in my debt, n’est-ce pas?”

Quinn chuckled. “These American police are such rank amateurs. The IRA could give them a few lessons on intimidation tactics. Now the damned insurance company, on the other hand…”

She shook her head. “I do not care if they pay for the damages. Pierre is dead and you are alive. The rest will take care of itself.”

Quinn grinned, not really surprised. “We won’t tell them that, though.” 

There was a comfortable silence between them. Then, “I need your advice, mon ami.”

“If it’s mine to give, it’s yours,” he replied, setting down his cup and reaching for her hand.

She spoke softly. “Mark and I… have grown… closer these past few weeks. We… that is to say, he…” Her cheeks were a becoming shade of pink. 

Quinn stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “He’s had a case for you for a long time, m’dear.” He chuckled at her look of surprise. “Oh yes, I knew. Kept telling him he needed to get off his arse and do something about it, before somebody beat him to it.” He squeezed her hand. “So he’s finally come clean?”

She nodded shyly, eyes searching his face. “Is it… should I… he has been so kind, allowing me to stay here in this beautiful home.” She hesitated. “But I think it may be becoming something… more. For- for both of us.”

“Jolie, are you breaking up with me?” he asked, with a tender smile.

“I… I believe I may be, mon amour. Will you be able to survive?” Her words were teasing, but her eyes held a hint of concern.

He pulled her close, speaking into her soft hair. “Sweetheart, that man loves you. And nothing could please me more than to see you happy. You’ve always known that.” 

She buried her head in his shirtfront and he felt her tremble. He was sharply reminded of the night so many years ago when she had finally broken her silence over D’Estan. And how the bastard had destroyed nearly everything she held dear in a deranged and futile attempt to win her back. He held her gently, letting her work through it in her own mind.

Finally, she sniffed hard, accepted his handkerchief with a watery smile and wiped her eyes. Then she kissed his cheek. “Merci, mon coeur. You have been my dearest friend, for so long. Je t’aime.”

“I love you, too, lass. Nothing will ever change that.”

She nodded. “This I know. And Mark holds you in high regard as well.”

Quinn shrugged. “He’s a good man. Bit of a stuffed shirt…” His twinkling blue eyes belied the implied insult and she smiled at the familiar complaint. He raised her hand to his lips. “Adele, this is your decision. But know this: I will support your choice, whatever it is, without question. Choose your own path, but do it *for* you, and no one else. Remember what you told me when Ben and I first got together? You *deserve* to be happy. If Mark is the one you want, then grab on to him with both hands and hold on tight.”

“I… I do want to, I think,” she replied slowly. Then a ghost of her mischievous humor surfaced, and Quinn’s heart soared at the sight. “But it will not hurt him to wonder for just a bit longer, n’est-ce pas?”

~end~


End file.
